Jealous Ramblings Of A BlueTurd

Jusr read this on another site.........

a new world order

By philip newton

Watching Liverpool win is never a pleasant experience at the best of times, but watching the European Cup Final the other night was like slow torture.

It was an incredible game, a fact only a blind and drunk fool could argue against; and believe me, I wish I was one for vast periods of the second half. AC Milan tore into those f*ckers like you dream Everton would do, only to pull an actual Everton by letting that three goal advantage wear away after the break like Brinker struggling to hold up the dam.

Like everybody else across the galaxy, I just couldn't believe those 6 minutes. The Rossineri were unlucky not to have more than that 3 goal lead before half time, and their much vaunted "best defence in the world" (© me before the game) looked solid and elegantly in control. Seedorf was sensational; he'd just stroll past "world clbutt" buffoon Stevie G, and Cafu was like a demented cousin of Yoda tearing down that right flank, and making Moyes look slightly foolish for ever mentioning Djimi Traore in public. Me, my friend, his dad and his sister were made up, and were enjoying watching those arrogant twats being positively played off the pitch, subjected to the full "blowtorch through butter" Milanese treatment. I even treated myself to two Changs, despite having some horrific alien virus liquefy my stomach merely four days previous. We stood outside in the garden; the silence across the city was golden. This year was to be blue, after all.

But of course, just as in Star Wars Episode III, or any Jesus film, we all know what happens in the end. Liverpool fight back.well, for six minutes.and three flukey goals(1) later, and the Spanish referee might as well have blown up right then. Of course, no matter what Milan did then, bar bringing a cannon on as a sub and placing it on the penalty spot to fire the winner(2), could mean any result other than the one which would piss half of Merseyside off for.well, for years. As if all of this was not evidence enough, Shevchenko managing to find human scarecrow Jerzy Dudek instead of the onion bag finally cemented my firm and unyielding belief that Rafael Benitez really had exchanged his soul for the European cup. Only truly powerful dark forces could have swung that game; you know it as well as I do.

Extra time and penalties were of course superfluous. When Shevchenko kicked that tame shot into Dudek, my friend's dad just turned the TV off. It seemed as if the room, never mind us within it, slumped into the realisation of all that bullpoo we were going to have to put up with for the next frenzied 72 hours. Bill, in his wisdom, uttered the first of two phrases I would hear that night that I will never forget in my life; "Welcome to the pain of being an Evertonian." I'd always hated Liverpool, and had been brought up that way. But now I understood the reason why our fathers' generation taught us such ways so pbuttionately. Those smug, self congratulatory, patronising pricks had bluffed and tricked their way to another media wet dream European trophy. No-one will remember the 2004-2005 season for Everton overcoming all odds, finishing 4th and above the pooe; Instead, all the media will relay is Steven Gerrard's deformed features contorted in some sort of twisted ejaculatory pose holding aloft that bell end of a trophy, red tickertape falling all around. It looked like raining blood, for censored's sake.

I went home later that night, pained with frustration and malice. Dejected, my Dad was pouring another bitter for himself. "It's as if Hitler won the war" he said. Again, this phrase would stay with me forever. I went to bed, where my sleep was interrupted by the understandably joyous celebrations of those lucky, lucky bastards. BEEP BEEEEEEEP.

I woke up feeling a little better. "censored it", I thought. There's no point being bitter about this; it's got nothing to do with us really, and besides, loads of my mates would be ecstatic. What sort of monster would begrudge that? 20 minutes later, and I was begrudging it again.

"TRIUMPHANT REDS IN HOMECOMING CELEBRATIONS" screamed every available media outlet; Television, Teletext-Ceefax, Radio, Internet. Nowhere was safe. THE PEOPLE OF MERSEYSIDE ARE UNITED IN JOY! I certainly censored wasn't. I know all of my blue brethren weren't either. I remember thinking the feeling was like as if I'd just won £5,000 on the lottery and was made up, until some really rich and obnoxious arsehole cousin goes and wins the censored jackpot, before going on a big party around the city. And then rings you up constantly to tell you how great he is, and how much he deserves it. By 3 o'clock, I was livid.

By 5, the procession of doom was right by my house. A constant stream of reds were going past my front door, and the windows in the kitchen were shaking from the three helicopters encircling the motorcade. I literally could not escape, and that red strangulation has scarred me. I was going to put my Everton shirt in the window, but I just knew my house would be bricked-spat upon, cos all those kopites are sound, innit la. So I did the only thing I could; I laid it in the garden for the helicopters to see, and then spelt a big censored off EFC with the clothes from the line. A futile, and yet cathartic gesture.

Anyway, later on, after walking the streets and feeling very, very lonely amongst those clbuttless goons, I had the misfortune of catching the end of ITV's highlights of the final. Some prick from the FA was being interviewed about how Liverpool should, of course, be allowed into next season's competition. But then the word "Everton" was mentioned. I nearly leapt up into a martial arts pose, so alert the mere mention of us made me become. The interviewer was basically asking if we should be displaced in order to allow the "greatest team in Europe" entry to the competition they patently failed to qualify for through the set rules laid out at the beginning of the season, and reiterated a couple of months ago. So, imagine the rush of venom into that hollow centre of mine when this bell end starts waffling censored like "that was an exceptional game with an exceptional result, so we will have to make exceptional circumstances". If the unthinkable does happen - and I must admit, I'm starting to worry, so low is my confidence in those cruel and malicious ogres who run football in this country - then I'm pretty sure there will be full scale riots. No joke.

So there it is. A blue prison, surrounded by red. I'm sure any Kopite who reads this will say I'm jealous, and any neutrals will say I'm bitter and blinkered. But I know I'm right.

(1)Yes, FLUKEY. Gerrard's header; free kick should have been awarded to AC Milan for offside seconds earlier. Smicer's goal; When has that censored ever done anything like that? And the penalty; which was censored dubious anyway; Mark Wahlberg is denied by a tremendous Dida save only for the ball to fall kindly back to him. All this = FLUKEY. (2)Which I, weirdly enough, would have believed to be totally karmically just.